"It's good to have you back, Marcy," Anne said. The two humans sat around the Planter's kitchen table, safe back in Wartwood. Hop Pop was nowhere to be seen, but Sprig and Polly were there, sitting opposite the humans on a stool and the table respectively.
"Yeah, I was starting to think I'd never get out of that place!" Marcy exclaimed. She leaned on the table with a tired grin.
"Well I wasn't worried, I knew they couldn't hold you," Sprig said with a smile, gesturing at her.
"What?" Marcy asked. She rubbed her ear.
"I said, I wasn't worried, I knew they couldn't hold you."
"Oh. Heh, that makes one of us…" Marcy said, looking to the side and blushing a bit. She rubbed at her cheek.
"So spill the beans!" Polly cried, "You never told me how you got back here after you escaped!"
Marcy tilted her head, then looked down at the small pollywog on the table. She furrowed her brow. There was a trick of the light, then she shook her head and shrugged, "Escape, you said? Not much to tell. I got out of the castle, sent word to the resistance, and they rescued me."
"Aw, but that's leaving out the best twists!" Anne said, sitting beside her, and put an arm around her friend, "Go on, tell her who you worked through!"
"You mean my...contact?" Marcy tilted her head.
"Yeah, your contact, whatever. Remember who they were?"
Marcy frowned and slumped back a bit. She leaned against her friend's arm. "Why don't you tell her? You were there."
"But that's no fun! I'm not the hero of the hour! C'mon, Marcy, you gotta socialize sometime."
"I guess," Marcy shrugged. Anne seemed so warm. She wanted to nuzzle against her. Would that be weird?
"Did you work through codenames?" Polly asked. She leaned to one side in a gesture as if she was supporting her head with her arm despite the proportions being impossible, "Must make for real weird conversations. 'How's it going, number one?' 'Did you set that person on fire, number two?' I mean that's just uncomfortable!"
Marcy leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She reached up to take Anne's hand with hers, "It's not important."
Anne shrugged, "You know, I still can't believe how Earth was able to stop the flying palace. And I can't believe we really thought it was Andrias!"
"Why not?" Marcy murmured. She felt so tired all of a sudden. Her eyes burned.
"I know, it's so weird," Sprig said, "They thought it was all Andrias' idea to try to conquer Earth, but it was Grimes, and Sasha-" Sprig noticed Anne making a hand-slicing motion over her throat. For a second, Marcy thought his skin was a different color.
"But…" Marcy furrowed her brow, "That's not... that's not right."
"Why not? How could Earth not beat Grimes? You said it would be a cakewalk!" Anne pulled her arm away and put both hands on her knees, "Mar-Mar, you know I don't pay attention to stuff sometimes, tell me! How would Earth have beaten him?"
"You know how," Marcy rubbed her temples, "SAMs or fighters or something. Can you talk louder, please? I can't process right when everyone's talking at once and not looking at me."
Anne didn't comment. Marcy furrowed her brow. Her eyes widened a little when for a second, a split second, Anne's appearance flickered like a video game glitch. She shook her head, trying to clear it.
"Something isn't working," Polly said distantly, "She's still uncooperative."
Marcy's eyes went out of focus. Why did it feel so hot and humid? The colors around her vibrated and flickered strangely. "Guys, something's wrong."
"What about her friend, Sasha?" Sprig asked as if she hadn't said anything.
"What about her?"
"They surrendered when people they cared about were in danger."
"That doesn't work," Polly replied, "Look at how they respond when we do. She's living proof of that. And if we don't follow through on the threat, it only strengthens their resolve. We can't get what we want by brute force, no matter what he says. We can only get our information by cooperation. And to do that, she needs to admit we're right."
Marcy looked at the space in between Polly and Sprig. Something was very wrong, distorted. She rubbed her eyes but nothing seemed to relieve them. They just wouldn't stop itching… "Does anyone else feel weird?"
Anne frowned, looking at the others, "This is too complicated. Why must your folk always do this? Give her to us. We'll make her sing."
All their voices were distant, as if at the end of a long tunnel. For a second, all the light dimmed, and Marcy gasped in confusion. The room blinked. It was suddenly laid out in black instead of the normal wood colors like the sun had been switched off, then the mirage was gone. "What's going on?"
Polly shook her head at Anne, "We're not allowed to harm her, first of all, second of all, that does nothing. Even folk as barbaric as theirs agree. We must break her resolve."
Marcy rubbed her face. "Would someone turn off the heat?" Something was wrong, something was very wrong.
"It's that time of year. Humans may be better at taking the heat than us frogs, but we still need heat." Sprig put a cup on the table, "Here, have a soda. It'll cool you off!"
Marcy smiled, "Phew, thanks!" She took the drink and downed it. For a moment, it was like she was wearing drunk glasses. She could see shapes. Shapes that…
"Something wrong?" Anne asked.
Marcy frowned, then smiled with relief. The distortions were gone, everything was fine. "N-nothing." She leaned back into Anne's arm. Everything was fine. It was just a migraine. "Do we have to talk about Earth? We've gotta go home soon, and I don't think I can stand waiting for more cool lore."
"See how she responds to items three and fourteen," Polly said. Her voice sounded distant, almost fading away.
"Well, it's going to be a while," Sprig said to Marcy, leaning an arm on the table, "You know Andrias has a hold on immigration between worlds. And aren't your parents still planning to move?"
Marcy blinked slowly. She was so tired. "Serves me right."
"Well, you did kinda strand us here," Anne said bluntly.
Marcy flinched. She sat up and folded her hands in her lap. What was she supposed to say? It was quiet, so she needed to say something but what could she say? "Where did you hide out? Did you take a different road from us?" Polly asked.
"If you're leaving, we should check out those videos and pictures you took of the resistance bases! We didn't get to see them," Anne said happily.
Marcy shook her head, "What?"
"If you're leaving-"
"Who's leaving?"
"If we're leaving soon…"
"Oh." Marcy rubbed her temples and held her stomach. "Oof. Anne, you show them. I don't feel good."
"Oh, it's not that bad," Anne said dismissively, "C'mon."
Marcy held her stomach with both hands, "Ugh, what did I eat for lunch?"
"Maybe it's that normal human food," Sprig said, "Weren't you sick for a while when you first got here?"
"That was because I ate some weird street food," Marcy replied, "Forgot the first rule of tourism. Don't eat the vendor food."
The others laughed a bit. "I still can't believe they thought Andrias thought up the plan to invade Earth. I mean, you weren't to blame, it was Sasha and Grimes." Polly commented.
Marcy furrowed her brow, "Huh?" Her mind shifted. Random connections were being made more than usual with her ADHD. But her brain was being so sluggish…
Suddenly, she started humming. "Cranes over Hiroshima, white and red and gold
Flicker in the sunlight like a million vanished souls
I will fold these cranes of paper to a thousand one by one
And I'll fly away when I'm done…"
"What's that?" Anne asked.
"Just a song I heard on the radio once. I started listening to it on a loop. The baby blinks her eyes as the sun falls from the sky..."
"What does it mean?" Anne asked.
Marcy glanced at her. She felt dizzy for a moment, and held her head, "You know Hiroshima."
"A battle?"
Marcy's eyes widened a little in confusion, "Um...no."
"Well then, what was it? A weapon? A location?" Sprig asked.
Marcy didn't know what to say. Her mouth opened and closed, her brain felt fuzzy. "I...what?"
"Tell us!" Anne said.
A memory of a red-colored book came to mind. A book she read when she was bored out of her mind in the back of her 4th-grade class. It had been on the back bookshelf and drew her eye. A little girl describing her fireproof hood, and going out to help tear down paper buildings for the war effort. Then she talked about an air raid siren, a powerful force tearing the hood away, leaving her naked in the rubble covered in burns. Enormous fires that burned for days, running to the water, only for it to be no less safe. She never finished the book, but it had left such an impact. "The first time they used nukes. Didn't you ever pay attention in history class?" She chuckled a bit, hoping things would return to normal. She started humming again. Her internal soundtrack would play on a loop. She feels the stings of a thousand fires as the city around her dies...
"Nukes?" Polly asked tersely.
"Atom bombs. Nuclear weapons."
"What kind of weapons?" Sprig asked.
"The kind that destroys cities," Marcy muttered. She held her head. "Let's talk about something else."
"She's resistant," Anne said.
"She's absent-minded," Polly said, "Be more careful."
"How many do you have?" Sprig asked.
"Huh?" Marcy mumbled.
"Atomic nuclear weapons. How many?" Anne asked.
"Atomic nuclear…? I dunno. Thousands? Anne, c'mon..."
The others went silent. "What kind of weapons are they?"
"They split the atom to create powerful bursts of energy. They usually use it for reactors, but also bombs."
"Where are they located?" Anne asked.
"I dunno. Bases? Subs?"
"Subs?"
Marcy rubbed her face, "Anne, you know what a submarine is."
"How often are they used?" Sprig asked, rubbing his hands together, "They sound-"
"Look! They're really powerful weapons that dump a ton of radiation everywhere and can destroy the world! They're really big, they're really scary, everyone wanted to blow themselves up twenty years ago, and can we please talk about something else?" Marcy held her head. Her skull suddenly felt like it was about to split open... Some sleep beneath the rubble, some wake to a different world...from the crying babe will grow a laughing girl...
The others looked at Marcy with wide eyes. Then Anne did something unexpected. She scoffed. "You're afraid?"
"Huh?" The other girl mumbled. One eye opened more easily than the other.
Anne sneered, "For a race that supposedly can destroy a city, you're a bunch of immature cowards and fools."
"No, we're not!" Marcy exclaimed in shock, "How can you say that?"
Anne narrowed her gaze, "Yes, you are. You people are scared to destroy cities? I wish I could destroy cities! We could end so many conflicts with even the threat of such things!"
"We could destroy the entire planet!" Marcy shouted.
"All the better! ...How?"
"With bombers and missiles! We can...we can hit things half a world away! We can hit things in space!" Marcy threw out a hand.
To her horror, they looked at her rapt with attention. "What is the range of these weapons, exactly?" Sprig asked.
"How many do you have?" Polly asked.
"What are the average casualties for each weapon?" Anne asked, on the edge of her seat, "Do you even still have war? Or have you conquered everyone else?"
"What? No! Of course not!"
"What are the wars like on your planet then?" Anne asked eagerly.
Marcy blinked at her. Polly narrowed her gaze at Anne, who scoffed again and leaned back. Polly put her hands together as best she could, "Let's stay focused, Marcy. Andrias is your friend. You were influenced by Sasha and Grimes, but you're back with us now."
Marcy felt woozy. "No...what?"
"I think we were onto something earlier," Anne said, glaring at Polly, "What is combat like on your planet?"
"Um...I told you guys about guns. We fire little pellets of metal at high speed to kill people."
"Is that it?" Polly asked hesitantly.
"Of course not?" Marcy shrugged, "Guns 'R' Us. We make missiles, tanks, machine guns, jeeps, ships, carriers, fighters, bombers…"
"What are these missiles and bombers?" Sprig asked.
"Flying machines. One is a rocket and the other is a plane." Marcy looked away, "They used a big bomber to drop a nuke on Hiroshima to end World War II. A lot of people died. It was horrible."
Anne grinned predatorily, "A world war? They must create terrific battles!"
"What do you mean 'terrific'?" Marcy asked.
Anne's image seemed to...flicker for a brief moment.
"Why do you want a war?" Marcy asked, bowing her head and putting her hands over it, "don't you know how many people get hurt?"
Anne studied her hand, "War is glorious. Only cowards can't see that." She glared at Marcy, "You just don't understand."
Marcy looked up, and her hand idly moved to her chest, "Don't you know how many people die? Don't you know how many people died at D-Day? It may be fun in games, but it's not in real life!" Her voice came out as a croak, "In real life people get hurt."
Her chest hurt. Oh god...what's happening? In the back of her head, her internal soundtrack kept running.Cranes over Hiroshima, white and red and gold...
"Coward," the girl spat and scoffed.
It hurt to hear her say that. "I…" Marcy sagged, "I got what I deserved! I've been a...a...selfish brat! And I got what I deserved!" Everything felt so strange now. She didn't know why her brain did anything. I will fold these cranes of paper to a thousand one by one...
"It wasn't your fault, it was Sasha and Grimes," Spoke up Polly, glaring at Anne.
"No, that's not what happened!" Marcy groaned.
The being supposed to be her friend laughed, laughed at her rage, "And you say you're a great human warrior? I pity them."
"I'm not a human warrior!" Marcy cried. She paused as what she said processed, but was too upset to stop, "I'm a stupid clumsy idiot! I'm worthless! I don't deserve anything, I'm just an unlovable, undeserving leech on society, I'm disposable! I'm a stupid dumb worthless little brat and a...a…"
Anne laughed again. Marcy spat tears and leaned forward, burying her face in her arms. "No offense, but you kinda are."
Marcy lifted her head to look at her old friend in horror. She couldn't keep the floodgates closed anymore. She struggled to hold it in, but her sobs came out in fits of anger and frustration. Why was she so different? Why did she do this? Why did she feel this way? Why was she embarrassing herself like this? Why couldn't she do anything right? She'd been a selfish brat like they all said she was. She didn't deserve anything. The way her teachers looked at her, the Asian kid who didn't measure up because she was too busy playing games. Why should she get any help? If she wasn't excelling, that must have meant she was doing it on purpose, she just didn't want it hard enough, as they said. Then there was the way her classmates looked at her, the monster in the corner.
The monster who'd broken something. All she'd ever done with her life was hurt people. She didn't mean it, but that's what happened, wasn't it? And I'll fly away when I am done... She couldn't bring herself to say she hated herself, not even in her head. But she hated...hated what?
Anne rapped her knuckles on the table. "Hey, calm down."
Marcy's head buzzed like a cell phone set on silent was embedded in her skull. "Don't do that!" She snapped through her tears.
"What?"
Marcy scowled and imitated the knocking gesture exaggeratedly, then repeated it several times, "'You need to calm down', 'stop that', meh meh meh! God, I hate that, and I hate you! Some asshole I used to know would do that and it drives me nuts!"
She remembered the boy who used to do that. A big burly kid with a voice like a busted motor reciprocating. She figured it must've been something he imitated from his dad, with this arrogant obnoxious attitude like he had to be the grownup in any situation. Not that that meant being responsible, no, that told him he could just push everyone around. She had a vivid recollection of all the little tics he had in conversation, nothing specific, just these little strange bits of irritation that made her want to hurt him. She couldn't imagine laying a fist on anyone, but she had this urge to tear something with her teeth every time she remembered him.
How could she do what she'd done? What had she done? She couldn't remember. People got hurt in real life...Her ancestors knew the legend, if you make a thousand cranes...
She hated that boy. Hated all the awkward memories of hanging around with him, of trying to talk to him that one time years after they parted ways on the bus.
Her chest hurt again. People got hurt in real life. In real life, people were torn apart by bombs, soldiers died crying for their mothers. They writhed as they held broken limbs, weeping, crying, dying...dying... From squares of colored paper, it will take the pain away...
It hurt to see Anne's image imitate the bastard (That's probably what he was… Marcy thought bitterly). She had so few friends that she remembered properly. Her closest friends for so many years were Anne and Sasha. When she tried to branch out it didn't go well. She would just be awkward and ruin things, or they'd just be nice to her to take advantage of her somehow. Anne and Sasha weren't like that. They were loyal, they were concerned when she was sad, she could turn to them when she was lonely…But she didn't deserve their love or their support. No, she was Marcy. Marcy didn't get anything. There was no one anyone wanted less from Marcy than herself. Because she was harmful. Her very existence hurt people.
"Weakling," her best friend's image said, and drummed her knuckles on the table.
"Stop that!" Marcy snapped, tears running down her face.
"Everything sets you off, doesn't it? You're just so sensitive."
"Stop it! Just shut up!"
Anne rolled her eyes, "Why should I? What will you do to me if I don't? You're a coward, a whiny little fool who nearly got herself killed because she wanted to play a game."
"Shut up...s-shut up…!" Marcy garbled. Her arms shook. She couldn't take it. It was all too much. Her parents were right, her teachers were right, her peers were right, even dumb stupid clumsy Marcy was right, but Marcy Marcy was never right. She could never be herself, never do anything for herself, because she wanted to have fun.
What was so wrong with her? Why did they want to hurt her so badly? She just wanted to live in her own world, to be who she wanted to be, to have fun, to be herself. She wanted to improve things, she wanted to change things, she wanted to grow, seize life by the horns and go and have fun.
There was no fun in real life. In real life, people got hurt. If they tried to change things, nothing would happen. What had she done? She couldn't remember. She fell back against the chair. Her chest was filled with agony, unable to stop. She hurt people. She always hurt people. Every time she tried to live the way she wanted, people got hurt. With loving hands she folds them, 6 hundred 44...
"Why am I so stupid?!" She howled in agony. She held her chest and pulled at her shirt. She tried to see what was wrong. She couldn't see anything, but she could feel intense pain in her sternum. She tore part of her shirt in her struggle to move it, but even in the light, she couldn't see anything.
"Marcy-" Polly began, but the teenager shook her head.
She beat her head back against the chair cushions. She screamed incoherently, she couldn't find what was wrong. The pain wouldn't stop.
She'd done everything right. She'd done what the adults told her, but it was never enough. She tried, and tried, and tried, but nothing worked. Nothing she ever did worked. Any minute, the rug could be pulled out from under her. She did things by the manual, building her life like a lego set as they always said she should, but when she got to higher grades, suddenly that was bad somehow. Everyone at school hated her for no reason at all. To the teachers, she was a burden. If she deviated, she was punished, if she didn't she was punished. There was no way to change. And if she was herself...
She'd done something really bad. She didn't remember what. Why did that song keep coming back? She was so scared. Her internal soundtrack kept running, Till the morning her stumbling fingers can't fold anymore…
In higher grades, having friends was an academic requirement. "Marcy, if you're having trouble studying, just find a study group!" Study with who? She didn't want to talk to anyone, she was too awkward for that, and everyone hated her for no reason anyway. "If you're having trouble, ask a classmate!" When she did, they had practically read the instructions upside down. Yet she still always felt so behind.
She groaned and thrashed, floundering in an emotional abyss.
Cranes over Hiroshima, white and red and gold
Flicker in the sunlight like a million vanished souls
I will fold these cranes of paper to a thousand one by one
And I'll fly away when I'm done...
"What's wrong, Marcy? How is any of this hard? You're so smart, but you can't figure this out?" He had lectured her about it. She'd tried, but she couldn't focus. CJ Cherryh's books were more interesting than geometry.
"We gave you all of this, aren't you grateful for any of it?" She had said. She was, she didn't mean to be ungrateful, but...it wasn't right. None of it was.
She never got the chance to do anything. Any time she tried to change things, to be who she was, she hurt people.
Ten summers fade to autumn, ten winters' snows have passed
She's a child of dreams and dances, she's a racer strong and fast
But the headaches come ever more often and the dizziness always returns
And the word that she hears is leukemia and it burns...
Was it any wonder why she spent all her time at Anne's house? Where there was her favorite ice cream and there wasn't any… Where the adults understood her. Not like home.
She flinched as if she'd been slapped. Her writhing stopped for a moment. She remembered the rain and the voices.
"Marcy, wait!"
"Get back here, young lady!"
She cried harder, in utter despair, helplessness, and sadness, more despondent than ever. Her chest hurt. She didn't matter. Her best intentions led to this, whatever this was. She'd wasted all her time, she'd wasted her life. Wasted it all trying to be who she was, wasted it all wanting to be someone, to be something, to have fun, and to explore. She'd wasted it all. She'd driven away the few people who cared about her. Her peers hated her. Her parents were disappointed. To her friends? After she did what she did, she didn't deserve anything. Marcy Wu; utterly worthless. Somehow that had gone into the negative zone after what...after...
"I...I can't remember…" She croaked weakly, slowing her spasms, "What did I…?"
She flexed her right hand. Open and closed, open and closed.
XXXXX
The three newts stood around the tank in the dimly lit lab. Inside floated a young human, wrapped in a grey suit that exposed only her head and fingers. Wires and tubes covered her body, and a large breathing unit was fitted over the front of her face. Long hair drifted around her head. It was a disturbing sight. She looked half dead. The tubes were black and sinister, the wires yellow and sickly. The human twitched and shifted immersed in the blue liquid the tank held. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She spasmed weakly.
The newt in the center crossed her arms, studying the human inside. "Something is strange about her."
"She's a human. What do you expect?" The large newt to the left of the tank said. She was dressed in soldier's garb.
"She is odd even by human standards," said the third. He was a scholar, shorter than the others, and dressed in robes.
"Do we know how old she is?" Asked the first. She wore an outfit befitting a member of the court, but not overly-extravagant, meant for public appearances. Among humans, it would be the equivalent of a nice dress or a suit. "She acts...almost like a child."
The second scoffed. "What does that matter? If all human soldiers are this weak, it doesn't matter what fancy tricks they have, it'll be easy."
"Hm." The first newt had not had any meetings with Marcy. She always heard of her skills, but she was very different from what she'd been told to expect. Soldiers tended to be young, but surely they didn't break like this. She glanced at the second, "I suggest you play your part better in our illusion."
The soldier scoffed, "Why should I? She's nothing but a weakling."
The first narrowed her gaze at the soldier, "How do you expect us to get valuable information? As I said, we must break her resolve, not simply upset her. We cannot gather more such information if we continue to go off-topic. We have to break her resistance. She won't tell us anything useful like this. We must get her to admit she was right. We get her to admit this was the result of rebel influence and to ask for forgiveness. Conversion is what we want. It's a matter of time and patience." She turned to a technician in the shadows and made a gesture.
In the tank, Marcy's right hand opened and closed slowly.
XXXXX
Marcy looked at her hand. It opened and closed. The pain had gone away. She had stopped convulsing. The others looked at her with accusing eyes. None had come over to help. For a moment, there was silence.
"I can't believe anyone would be friends with a weakling like you," Anne said, a smirk on her face, "So many tears over such a little thing?"
Polly facepalmed.
"Just leave me alone," Marcy mumbled to those around her, curling up. "It's what I deserve. I just need to stay away from everyone." She remembered what happened to the girl in the song. So much was left unfinished. All the girl had wanted to do was finish her track meet for her team. That girl never had a chance. Neither did poor old Marcy. She didn't deserve anything. She didn't get anything. It was all taken away. And it was her fault.
Her friends did not forget her, crane after crane they made
Until they reached a thousand and laid them upon her grave
People from everywhere gathered, together a prayer they said
And they wrote the words in granite so none can forget...
Marcy felt the tears streaming down her face. Why did the song keep coming back? Why did everything hurt so much? Why…?
With loving hands she folds them, six hundred forty-four, till the morning comes when she can't fold them anymore…
She curled up into a ball, pulling her arms over her head. Anne hated her, for whatever she did. Even if she didn't remember what that was. But that was life. No one wanted worthless dumb Marcy because she'd committed a crime by just existing.
In the back of her mind, the last spool of the song rolled out. This is our cry, this is our prayer, peace in the world…
Whatever she'd done, she wouldn't be the one memorialized in granite. It was so unfair, so cruel, and pointless. Why do anything? All she'd ever done was mess things up. All she wanted was to be herself, to exist, to have a life. She wanted to change the world, she wanted to have fun, she wanted to do so many things. She wanted to live her own life, to help people, but all that ever did was bring her here. In real life, people got hurt. There were no changing things for the better, not when you were Marcy. All her dreams led to this, wherever she was. She'd tried her best, but it wasn't enough. She'd tried to be herself, and it hurt people. She did what she thought was right, and all it did was cause trouble. She'd wasted all her time, it was her fault. Everything was her fault. There were no games, no mercy, no love for her. War wasn't fun, it was tragic and awful. People got hurt.
It was her fault people got hurt; people got hurt because she decided to be herself.
Sorta alive is mostly dead.